


never have i ever

by peradi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Bunker, Drunken Declarations of Love, Implied Demon Sex, Lots of alcohol, M/M, Multi, Sam is happy, crack!fic, dean is in pain, drunk!Cas, everyone has banged crowley, hangovers, happy crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You drank a bottle of tequila, yodeled at me for forty-five minutes straight and then tried to seduce Cas by asking him if he wanted to ‘take a ride on the Dean-a-saurus’. While dry-humping the sofa next to him. And then you took a shit on his trench coat.”</p><p>Dean gets drunk. It all goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never have i ever

“You drank a bottle of tequila, yodeled at me for forty-five minutes straight and then tried to seduce Cas by asking him if he wanted to ‘take a ride on the Dean-a-saurus’. While dry-humping the sofa next to him. And then you took a shit on his trenchcoat.”

“I – son of a bitch – I never, never shat on Cas’s trenchcoat. Threatened to, maybe, I mean the guy can be a douche but - “

“Okay, fine, that bit was me dicking with you. But you did refer to your cock as the Dean-a-saurus. And you made noises.” Sam shudders all over, like he’ll never ever be clean again. “Dinosaur noises,” he clarifies at Dean’s baffled face.

Well. Dean thinks his face his baffled. He’s pretty sure that he has a face still because it hurts. His eyes are dry as sandpaper, his mouth tastes as though his colon is trying to escape the turmoil of his intestines by crawling up his throat – like some hideous refugee from the tidal wave of puke and pain and alcohol that’s taken up residence where he used to have half-way functioning organs – and his skin has that awful greasy sheen that comes when a body tries to sweat out the alcohol.

Oh God, he wants to die.

He’s pretty sure he got skull-fucked by an archangel last night; it’s the only way to explain the headache. The headache – well. Put it this way. More cultured demons like to write verses about agony; they compose poetry on the walls of hell’s dankest pits in viscera and blood all about the exquisite tortures they have been inflicting on their victims –

Yeah, so those demons would take one look at his headache and out-write demon-Shakespeare.

Fucking Christ, he’s still drunk. His thoughts make even less sense than normal.

He remembers this: last night, Sam immersed in a tower of books that dwarfed even his sasquatch-based physique. Overwhelmed by a surge o0f fraternal pity he decided that the best thing – nay the only thing – that they could do in this situation (namely: trying and failing to get this cock-sucking mark off his arm) was get wasted. White girl wasted in Sam’s case, he had said and –

“Starbuck’s liquer?’ he manages. The words float free on breath that’s clearly come by way of an open grave.

Sam sniggers. He looks pretty shit himself, thank the good Cas, with his hair a hideous sweaty tangle like that chick from the Grudge and his face best described as ‘a dog’s arsehole’. But he’s smiling. It’s been far too long since Sam smiled.

“Did’ya like it Samantha?”

“Dude, you drank it. All of it. This was after the beer – what do you remember?”

Dean focuses. His face assumes an expression of intense constipation. “The beer. Cas and beer. Games? Oh fuck did we – “  
“We had a threesome. My cock is bigger than yours.”

Sam says it with a perfectly straight face: solemn, somber. Then he laughs: a coughing, choking laugh that doesn’t seem to end. And its wonderful, really fucking wonderful, to see his brother happy – but oh-my-sweet-mary his head, his head, every syllable of that laugh was a hammer blow to various portions of his archangel-violated skull.

“Please stop,” Dean mewls.

“Not what you said last night! Then it was mainly, oooh yeah Cas – do me harder – I’ve been a bad girl – spank me and call me Sally – “

Dean sinks onto the floor. The floor is cool and unjudgemental. The floor does not laugh at him. The floor is his friend. He loves the floor.

Sam kneels down beside him, interrupting his moment of sacred communion with his new beloved. A hand the size of a dinner plate claps Dean’s shoulder – the movement jolts him forward and his insides slosh around dangerously; he tastes bile, sugar and the bitter endless taste of regret.

“Wanna die,” he says.

“We played a lot of drinking games. It was fun. We taught Cas ‘Never Have I Ever’. You and Crowley, huh?”

“There is no God.”

“Well yeah there is, and he’s a douchenozzle. Hey, what do you remember?”

Dean cradles his aching, shattered head in his hands and tries to think.

\--

“Let’s get hammered!”

Okay, that’s what started it: a devilishly handsome dickfuck who brandished a large bottle of – what? – whisky maybe, he can’t remember, at Sam and smiled his king-of-the-world smile like he didn’t have the Father of Evil’s mark branded on his arm like some prison bitch.

Sam, after a little cajoling, agreed. Cas – crashing in the bunker for reasons best to himself – was intrigued by human practices and joined in.

\--

Right. So far, so normal. Three bros doing bros things. Alternating between whisky and beer – good beer, not that hipster shit Sam seems to like.

Then…no more beer.

“I do not like beer,” Cas said.

That’s why: Cas did not like it. He drank it because Dean drank it, and because he thought that it was an important part of male bonding to imbibe the dreadful stuff – but once he realizes that there are alternatives – good alternatives he demands nothing but –

“That’s a chick drink!”

“I do not see what baby birds have to do with this,” Cas said – but there’s a light in his eyes Dean was starting to recognize: the flicker of humour. Cas doesn’t joke much but when he does it is beautiful.

Because it means his friend is getting important human concepts of course! Why else would it be beautiful? 

Anyway. Cas drank vodka and cherryade and nothing else. For Someone’s sake.

\--

“So yeah,” Dean says. Sam has dragged him to the kitchen. Or he dragged Sam. One or the other. Sam starts breakfast – tries to, at least, but the smell of eggs apparently is triggering for him because he took one look at them and threw up. Now he’s trying to clean it up. Dean thinks he’s crying quietly. “That’s not too bad. We moved onto spirits.”

“Yeah, but then you decided you wanted it to be interesting,” Sam says.

That sounds like something drunk-Dean would say.

Drunk-Dean is a dickweasel.

\--

“Never have I ever fucked a demon!” Dean proclaimed with great joy, watching as Sam downed his vodka-and-something in a series of shaky swallows. Cas blinked at his glass owlishly. His face is set in thoughtful, curious lines.

“What is the purpose of this game? Is it some kind of ritualistic shaming of misdeeds, punished by group mockery and forced inebriation?”

“Noooo,” Sam slurred. He’s a handsy drunk. Dean had forgotten this. Sam slung one arm over Cas’s shoulders – Cas gave a feline twitch at the contact, wrinkling his nose – and Sam, heedless, crammed his lips to Cas’s ear. “S’cos it’s fun.”

“You enjoy embaressing yourself in front of your friends as it cements your friendship – your bond is so strong that you may mock each other in a manner that would be unacceptable to an outsider.” A smile bloomed across Cas’s face as he understood. “I am flattered that you invited me to join. Is it my go now?” Dean nodded. He was having trouble focusing on Cas’s face. Angels had a lot of eyes, right? Cas had like eight.

"Never have I ever -- "

"Kissed Crowley!" Sam shouted from the sidelines. His face was alight with joy. Dean, however, could not appreciate his brother's rare good spirits: forced to abide by the rules of the game he drank long and deep. 

Castiel did the same. 

"We made a deal," he said. "It was necessary. It was not unenjoyable."

Dean, when drunk, is ferociously competitive over things that shouldn't matter. 

That knowledge is important to the revelation that followed. 

"Well, I gave him a blow job!" Dean snapped. Like it's a competition - who's got further with the King of Hell?

Sam made a noise like a strangled cat. STratch that: he made a noise like someone was strangling him with a cat. 

"S'wasn't gay," Dean insisted. "He went down on me too. An' he didn't cum on my face."

"Dude, you sucked Crowley off. That's more than gay that's -- "

"He has an uncommonly large male organ. I believe that it is because of his deal."

"Wait -- you too?"

"I did engage in oral copulation with Crowley. It was a dark time, and I was lonely." 

The mood dropped suddenly: frost clambered up Dean's spine. He thought of Cas, afraid and alone and plotting to swallow the souls of the damned in an attempt to save his world --

He hugged Cas, hard. Kissed the top of his head. "You're too precious for this world."

\--

"I was imitating you!" Dean argues, but it's like trying to argue with the tide -- Sam's got the idea adhered to his skull that Dean likes Cas - that Dean like-likes Cas like some teenage girl and --

\--

"I'm straight," Dean insisted. 

"Whatevs, and so am I," said Sam with an exaggerated wink. 

"You're what now."

\--

"YOU CAME OUT TO ME WHEN I WAS TOO DRUNK TO REMEMBER."

Actually, that's not what happens. 

Dean says: "Kill me please," and sinks to the floor, staring at his phone -- all thoughts of his suddenly-not-straight brother flying from his brain as he sees what he sent Castiel last night. 

HVESX

HVTHESXWIT

HAV SEX W/ ME

PLS

U CN TOP

I LIKE UR FACE

CROWS S GD IN BDE. 

\--

"Being bi is a thing," Sam had said. 

That's Dean's last memory of the night. 

\--

Actually, it's not. 

\--

"Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas-tiel. Cas-steeel. I lurve you. You are my favourite. Never never never never leave me. Baby Cas. Pretty Cas."

\--

So yeah. Sam thinks that the worst thing he did that night was try and seduce Cas via dinosaur impressions but it's not. Dean doesn't actually remember the t-rex inspired chat-up lines - and accompanying hand-actions and/or crotch thrusting -- and he kind of wishes that he did, because if he did then maybe he wouldn't remember curling around Cas like a half moon, long after Sam had passed out (in the bath cos he's a classy lady) and stroking his angel's soft hair and crooning his affection into a probably-unwilling ear. 

Fuck his life.


End file.
